


A Matter of Urgency

by plasticpill



Category: Star Wars Episdoe VIII: The Last Jedi, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Begging, Crack, Crack and Porn, Crying, Humor, Lactation, Light BDSM, M/M, Milking, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painplay, Power Exchange, Under-negotiated Kink, dom!hux, dub-con non-sexual milking, milking Kylo Ren for fun and profit, some elements might appear dubcon at first glance, sub!Kylo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-03 11:09:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13340007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plasticpill/pseuds/plasticpill
Summary: “You were serious,” Hux whispers. “About the—Force Milk.”Kylo does not deign him a response. A cold pressure holds Hux’s body still as he hears the slide of metal, then suddenly he is seated again in the same chair, but this time much closer to Kylo, their legs almost intertwined.“Before you start, you must relax them,” Kylo begins, his voice strained. “Give me your hands.”--In which Kylo unveils his tragic milking backstory and requests some urgent assistance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I, too, cannot believe this is real.

Ben stood in a circle of gathered padawan and tried to compose himself. The sun was hot on his back, the midday breeze a sigh against his bare chest. Over a dozen pairs of eyes were trained on him, and he felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck.

He’d seen it done before, in secret, but he was not prepared. He wasn’t prepared for the solemn silence, nor for the sight of Luke approaching with a metal bucket. Luke walked with purpose and a spring in his steps. When he looked to Ben, his eyes shone with pride. They’d both been waiting for this day.

“It is time,” Luke declared, glancing around at the circle of students. Every adult padawan was present, seated around Ben to observe the ancient rite of passage. They all carried their bottles.

Luke gave Ben a small nod. “You may begin.”

Ben sucked in a shaky breath. He did not feel ready, but he raised his hands to his chest, prodding and massaging it gently. He was supposed to feel the force flow within him—feel the source of all life in his breast, feel its physical manifestation course through his veins, into his bosom, bursting to be harvested by his Jedi master and gush into his fellow padawan’s waiting bottles. But all he felt were embarrassment and dread.

If Luke noticed Ben’s trepidation, he did not acknowledge it. When he was satisfied with Ben’s progress, he gestured at him to stop, then reached out a calloused hand to check that Ben’s chest had been adequately relaxed.

Ben felt his face heat. He stared into the distance, avoiding the eyes of the grim-faced padawans surrounding him. They’d all been through this before, Ben thought. They’d all gone through the same ceremony, a sacred ritual that had thus far been forbidden to him. He wondered if it was easier for the female padawans, if they were better prepared for the physical act. But then again, why would they be? This was nothing like nurturing a newborn, despite the Jedi’s inane metaphors.

His chest felt tender and tight. He could, despite his dread, sense the pressure building within. He let out a small gasp when Luke grasped him firmly. Nodding at its weight and firmness, Luke squeezed Ben’s left pec with a hand as he pinched his nipple with another. Ben clenched his teeth, but could not stop the small grunt that escaped through his nose. It was not pain, exactly, but the sensation made his whole body shudder, sent a red-hot jolt down his spine.

Luke pumped Ben slowly, his hands steady, his avid gaze never leaving Ben’s chest. Ben looked down at himself between trembling breaths. There, at the tip of his nipple, a bead of liquid was forming, milky white, small but rapidly growing. Luke’s assistant strode up, a metal bucket gleaming in his hand—then it really began, the first drop of Ben’s essence falling into the bucket, followed by another, and another, until it became a steady flow, his Force Milk rushing forth with each pump and—-

* ~ * ~*

“Force Milk,” Hux says, slowly, his jaw finally working. “Force Milk,” he tries again, quieter this time. Then he pulls himself up straighter and wills himself into meeting Kylo’s eyes: “I don’t know what you think you are playing at, _Supreme Leader_ , but if you insist on weaving this farcical tale, please allow me to remind you that I have other matters to discuss, matters which your frivolous whims have—”

“Do _not_ ,” Kylo snarls, “ _interrupt me_.”

Hux flinches, but maintains a neutral expression. Kylo turns away to scream something unintelligible at his bedroom walls, his broad shoulders heaving. When he swings back to Hux, Hux almost thinks he sees a hint of tears in his eyes.

Kylo takes a few deep breaths through his nose. His lips tremble ever so slightly.

Hux stares at him, aghast. So this is what his life has become now. Forced to serve an overgrown child, to humor his deranged stories. He is tired. Stars, he is so very tired. Even over the hum of stims and tea, he could feel exhaustion pull at his mind and stretch his sanity dangerously thin. Hysterical laughter bubbles inside his chest as he watches a nightclothes-clad Kylo on the brink of tears, and over what? Being hand-milked by Luke Skywalker?

Something must have shown on his face, because Kylo’s expression darkens. There is a blur of movement, and he finds his head slammed against a wall. A hot palm is pressed against his throat, and five thick fingers wrap around his neck.

“Don't you dare mock me!” Kylo roars, tears now falling freely. He shakes Hux as the general claws at his hand, trying to free his windpipe. Kylo loosens his grip but does not release him. His nose is inches away from Hux’s. Hux looks into Kylo’s wet eyes, and sees only his own terrified face.

“You will not mock me, and you will not laugh,” Kylo says, his voice barely above a whisper. Exhaling, Kylo pulls back and points to his chair. “You will take a seat,” he says as he seats himself on the bed, “and you will remain silent.”

Hux steadies himself against the wall. He could still feel the ghost of Kylo’s hand around his neck, its shadow burning hot, so different from the cold pressure of the force. He scowls, makes his way carefully to the small chair, and sits down, making a valiant attempt to appear unaffected by Kylo’s increasingly frequent bursts of violence.

Kylo wipes the remnants of his tears away. “Now, where were we.”

* ~ * ~*

Once the ritual was complete, Ben quickly realized it was only the beginning of his torment. His production burgeoned after that initial session, at a rate that even the most bountiful of his fellow students were astounded by.

“I’ve never seen such raw output before,” Luke said with some awe. According to him, this was another sign that Ben was unusually strong with the force. The onset of adulthood had granted Ben rapid growth in his powers, but this particularly side-effect was almost enough to make him wish to turn back the clock.

Ben did not feel powerful, not when his chest ached mere days after being milked, swollen and full. He knew some of the padawans helped each other with the milking, but he didn’t feel like he was close enough with anybody to initiate that sort of partnership. Luke offered to help, but Ben refused every one of his offers with unwavering fortitude.

He was given a pair of pumps—modified breast pumps, he noted numbly. They operated with cold efficiency, and had plastic suction cups he could attach to his chest, followed by tubes that fed his milk into a pair of small bottles.

Oh, Ben thought he’d known pain before, but it was nothing like being hooked up to the pumps, to have waves after waves of agony reduce him to a sobbing child, screaming into a pillow until it was soaked with hot tears and sweat. Perhaps the universe could detect the wrongness of the machine and wanted to punish him, Ben thought, but he still could not bring himself to approach another for assistance.

He’d tried to take care of it himself, at first. The only outcomes of that endeavor were fingerprints on his pale chest and red but still dry nipples. No matter how hard he squeezed and kneaded, no matter how many wails he had to swallow, not a single drop emerged from his ministrations. Ben did not understand how this was possible, but Luke just regarded him sadly. It wasn’t the way of the Jedi, he simply said, and Ben, his chest painfully heavy and eyes brimming with tears, wanted to kill him just then.

Some part of him understood that Luke did not do this to him. But a larger, more restless part blamed Luke for corrupting his painstakingly-honed body. The other adult padawans seemed relatively unbothered by their newfound burden. They were able to go weeks, sometimes months, without having to be milked, while the longest Ben had lasted was five days. His throbbing chest interfered with his training, ate at his mind. He’d tried to push himself, tried to drag out the space between each session, but he soon discovered that even the white-hot pain of being pumped was preferable to that dull ache. He had no choice but to submit.

 

When he found himself kneeling at Snoke’s feet—cold, battered, but refusing to tremble, he’d thought he’d found an answer to his suffering. That his new master would solve this cursed predicament. The Jedi Affliction, Snoke had called it. Had he come to him earlier, before he was of age, he’d have helped him snuff it out, nipped it in the bud before it was too late.

He was now known as Kylo Ren, had cut his braid and burned his old robes. But the same maddening ache in his chest remained. Snoke had forbidden him access to any pumps, or to seek out relief with another. The other Knights were allowed to help each other when in need, but Kylo’s problem was of a different magnitude—for him, it was not a small distraction he had to take care of every month. It was an all-consuming craving, a throbbing torture that only crescendoed the longer he tried to ignore it. This was to be his trial. The first stumbling block he had to overcome to reverse the damage done by Skywalker.

Snoke only tut-tutted at Kylo when he all but crawled to him after the first week, his hair sweaty and face an ugly red. Kylo cursed and raged, screamed in frustration, but even when he collapsed to his knees and begged, Snoke did not relent. He was to last ten days, and the next time, fifteen. It would be months, perhaps years, before he would be free of this pitiful affliction, Snoke told him. The only way forward was to wean him off with a firm hand.

“Channel your pain, your resentment, your rage!” Snoke commanded. And channel them Kylo did. His temper ran white-hot, and he developed a unquenchable thirst of violence. Every movement he made pulled at his tight chest, renewed that unspeakable agony that no amount of blood and brutality could quell.

When he returned to Snoke on the tenth day he was on his knees once more, his shirt and mask a disheveled pile next to him. He dug his fingernails into his palms, fists clenched at his sides. It had been wishful thinking that Snoke would let one of the Knights assist him, or even offer him pumps. He was alone on the floor while Snoke remained at an disinterested distance, seated and sneering. He was disappointed by Kylo’s tearful pleading, thought his lack of self-control pathetic.

Kylo cried out when he felt the spectral touch of the force on his chest. Snoke did not bother relaxing him, simply wrung him until Kylo felt the trickle of sweet release. A sense of wrongness, of something aberrant nagged at him, but this was drowned out by the overwhelming bliss of relief. All else faded to the background, even the shocks of pain caused by Snoke’s careless minitration.

Kylo did not know what became of his spilled milk and did not make an attempt to find out. He wanted only to rid himself of this affliction, but his progress on this front was discouraging. Snoke’s plan to taper him off came to a halt when it became clear that anything beyond two weeks would render Kylo useless, would leave him a sobbing, blabbering mess unable to complete other aspects of his training. Punishments were ineffective, as were interventions through the force.

Once in a while, as rewards for missions completed, Snoke would allow one the knights to participate in his milking, though such instances were rare. The tenderness and pain became a familiar constant, yet another source of misery hidden under thick cowls and masks. It wasn’t long before Kylo resigned himself to this lacteous fate. As much as he idolized Vader, he was unwilling to mutilate his own body. If he stood a bit hunched over as he terrorized his subordinates, or if his masked face was drawn in a perpetual grimace, nobody noticed or cared.

 

Snoke’s death and the debacle that followed presented another challenge—it had been almost two standard weeks since his last milking, and by the time he’d finally showered, eaten, and slept, his chest felt on the verge of bursting. With Snoke gone and his knights spread out in the far reaches of the galaxy, the most immediate answer was to acquire some pumps. To Kylo’s great displeasure and despair, the pumps he needed were rarities created specifically for male force users, and were all but impossible to come by. There was also the matter of discretion; the world didn't need to know that the new leader of the First Order was hunting for special breast pumps. They were unaware of this particular...affliction, and he’d prefer to keep it that way.

When the days dragged on and his furtive search remained fruitless, his resolve began to waver. At over three weeks, it was the longest time he’d gone without being milked since that cursed Jedi ritual. He twitched at every brush of fabric against his chest, felt tears gather in his eyes every time he had to lift his arms, or move at anything but a fluid, unhurried pace. Physical training was out of the question. He attempted meditation, but his thoughts were wandering, panicked things, all of them thrashing about until only the feelings of fullness and pain remained.

It was perhaps only in his imagination that his chest was becoming physically extended from the pressure. The wet spots that began appearing on the front of his shirt, however, were no illusion. The joy he felt upon seeing the possibility of relief was short-lived. The dampness of his nipples was not an indicator of a more ample flow to come. No matter what he tried—with his hands, through the force, or with a overridden droid—his chest remained stubborn as ever. Only now he had the added aggravation of involuntary leakage.

Leaking, in pain, and with no sign of suitable pumps in sight, Kylo considered his other option. He could, in theory, order a subordinate to assist him. He’d have to monitor their mind and tongue, make sure their stayed loyal and silent. Would he need more than one, and would it be best to regularly wipe their memories? The humiliation alone could perhaps send Kylo into a murderous and incriminating rage. This would be far more troublesome than a simple pair of pumps, but the urgency of the situation left him no room to maneuver.

How would it look if attendants regularly visited his private quarters, then emerged after hours have passed? Kylo grimaced at the thought. The General would surely notice. The General—Kylo clenched his fists—the General, once on his trail, would not give up his pursue until he’d gotten to the bottom of his secrets. It would take little to topple Kylo’s already tenacious grasp on the throne. He could not afford to get Hux involved.

On the other hand… An idea began to form in Kylo’s mind. While Kylo brooded in his rooms, Hux had been incessant in his attempts to gain an audience, sending him messages containing every conceivable detail of the Order’s operation. It was only through Hux that Kylo ruled the Order. Since disposing of Snoke, Kylo had been quick to discover that Hux had sunken his sharp little teeth in every inch of the organization, had invisible strings extended through its every crevice. Kylo needed Hux, but—Kylo remembered his gasping breaths, and long before that, the bruises, the broken bones, the split lips given by Snoke. Kylo knew Hux was defenceless against Snoke’s powers, and now, his.

Hux would keep his secret.

* ~ * ~*

Hux sits in Kylo’s chair, his back ramrod straight. His eyes are resting somewhere on Kylo’s left cheek. Silence stretches on in the room, murky and with a manic edge.

Hux does not know if he is meant to speak. He also does not know, for instance, what the purpose of his continued audience is, and he refuses to entertain the one possibility that would explain it.

Kylo’s cheek twitches, a small mole shifting with his movement. “So.”

Hux thins his lips. His patience is running dry.

Kylo leans forward slightly, and Hux sees that the back of his neck is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “You will help me,” Kylo says, the turn of his voice between a question and a command. “You will keep my secret.”

“Help you—with what?”

“You know what,” Kylo’s nostrils flare. “My problem. The Affliction.”

Hux chances a glance at Kylo’s eyes. He expects mockery—perhaps some indication of madness, but Kylo looks like the same simpleton he always has been. He meets Hux’s gaze, and Hux feels himself tense.

“Give me an answer,” Kylo says. His voice is low, its lilt carrying the promise of violence. “Think carefully. About your position. Your men. That orange animal of yours.”

Hux feels himself flush with rage. “Of course I will help you, Supreme Leader,” he bites out. “I’m here to assist you in whatever manner you require.”

Kylo regards him ominously for a second, then visibly relaxes. “Good. I’m glad we have an understanding. Now,” Kylo exhales, shifting his legs a little. “You may need to come closer for this.”

“Ah. Certainly,” Hux says. He stands and takes a brisk step towards Kylo. Whatever sick fantasy or game of humiliation this is, he will weather through it.

Kylo peers up at him from his seated position, a pained look on his face. Slowly, he begins to unbutton his shirt, and Hux can’t help but stare at his pale throat as it becomes exposed in full, followed by collarbones, then an expanse of smooth skin.

Hux frowns. Kylo’s torso is covered in some kind of cloth, a thin layer of fabric wrapped around his chest. Hux opens his mouth, but snaps it shut again.

“It’s. For the leakage,” Kylo says. Hux nods even as his mind begins to clamor in alarm. This can’t possibly be—

Kylo lets out a grunt. He’s been trying to reach behind him, and the movement seems to put him in great distress. Cursing, Kylo drops his arms, and as if lifted by invisible hands, the cloth began to unravel on its own.

Hux’s breath stutters to a halt. Beneath it, Kylo’s chest is a feverish pink. Even with Kylo’s impressive bulk, the swell of his pectorals appears fuller than usual. His nipples are swollen and plump, and—when Hux looks closer—damp with some sort of moisture.

Kylo’s chest rises and falls with his breath, and Hux stares at him in both fascination and horror.

“You were serious,” Hux whispers. “About the—Force Milk.”

Kylo does not deign him a response. A cold pressure holds Hux’s body still as he hears the slide of metal, then suddenly he is seated again in the same chair, but this time much closer to Kylo, their legs almost intertwined.

“Before you start, you must relax them,” Kylo begins, his voice strained. “Give me your hands.”

Kylo’s eyes are downcast, giving him a morose look. The image is surreal enough that Hux wonders if he has walked into some terrible dream. He offers his hands wordlessly, his body running on autopilot.

Kylo’s hands are hot and calloused. He splays Hux’s fingers and places them gently on his own chest.

They both shudder at the contact. As if possessed, Hux begins to move his hands. In a buried part of his mind, he has always wondered how Kylo’s ridiculous pecs would feel under his fingers. He’s imagined how Kylo would tense and draw in a sharp breath, as he is doing now, but under very different circumstances

“Yes, just like that,” Kylo says between gasps. Hux continues the kneading motion of his hands, first lightly, then with increasing pressure. Kylo groans. The sound sparks a peculiar warmth deep in Hux’s guts, but he stamps it out mercilessly. This—whatever this is, is not the time to indulge in idle fantasies.

“Slower,” Kylo rasps when Hux begins to speed up. His eyes are shut tight, his jaw clenched. Beads of sweat have formed on his brows. Hux finds he is not opposed to this image of Kylo—tight as a bowstring, at his mercy.

Hux slows down but doubles the pressure. Kylo trembles visibly, but does not immediately protest. A moment later, he stills Hux with a shaking hand. “That’s enough,” he gasps, his face flushed and eyes wide. “We can proceed to the next step.”

The next step involves Kylo giving Hux jumbled instructions, including a botched demonstration on how to position his hands. Hux frowns in annoyance. It is not a complicated matter, Hux thinks, and before Kylo can finish, he gives his chest a squeeze and his nipple an experimental tug.

Kylo cries out, and Hux pulls his hands back in alarm.

“No, no. Keep going,” Kylo pants urgently. “Continue what you were doing.”

Carefully, Hux resumes his ministrations. The only sound in the room is Kylo’s heavy breaths.

So fixated on what he’s doing, Hux has almost forgotten what the objective of this whole endeavor is. He freezes in shock when a string of milky liquid shoots out; just watches it splash onto the front of his and Kylo’s trousers.

“Again!” Kylo cries.

“What? It’s getting everywhere!” Hux says, “Get me a towel or something!”

Without warning, a bath towel swoops in from the direction of the refresher and nearly smacks Hux in the face. The regulation mug on the nightstand also shoots into his lap, then rights itself and floats up until it sits under Kylo’s chest.

“Continue,” Kylo says. He sounds almost pleading, his voice cracking a bit with urgency.

Hux rolls back his sleeves and gets to work. The job itself is not entirely unpleasant, Hux thinks, although somewhat hysterically. His mind is quieter, more focused on the task at hand. The usual buzz of worry and irritation feels distant, as if it’s been locked away in a different room. Kylo, too, is quieter than usual. His aggressive demeanor has eased into something more peaceful, almost gentle.

The floating mug quickly fills up. Kylo eyes snap open when Hux clears this throat. Hux looks pointedly at the mug. “What do I do with it?”

Kylo frowns. The mug floats shakily to the refresher, and Hux hears the sound of liquid being emptied into the sink. What a waste, he thinks, then immediately feels foolish.

The mug flies back and Hux prepares to continue what he has been doing, but Kylo shakes his head. “No. The other one.”

Hux raises an eyebrow at him. “This one is—done?” he asks. It felt far from it.

“We’ll come back to it,” Kylo simply says.

Hux swaps his attention to Kylo’s other nipple. Kylo groans when Hux squeezes him. Now that he’s in a more sober state of mind, Hux can feel the pressure building within. He watches Kylo’s face. The flesh in his hand feels swollen, inflamed. Kylo must have been in intense pain. Hux wonders if abstaining for too long will cause injuries, or if it has consequences beyond the physical.

Hux is a curious man. Once he has accepted this strange new reality, his mind churns with questions. He considers this new puzzle as he milks Kylo. Would Kylo be more forthcoming with the workings of the force, now that Hux has been roped into a part of it? Hux would have to find out.

Hux looks back up and finds Kylo watching him. His face is relaxed, his eyes misleadingly earneset. Hux looks into those eyes, soft and wet, and for some inexplicable reason tightens his hand, twists the nipple between his fingers much harder than he needs to.

Kylo opens his mouth, his brown eyes widening. But other than the clenching of his fists, he does not resist. Hux does it again, and again. The trickle of milk does not slow. Kylo’s breathing quickens, and within moments he is red-faced and gasping, his breaths coming out in rapid huffs. Hux feels a strange rush of victory, as if he has finally gained the upper hand in this exchange, has taken control of these absurd circumstances—

“Hux. Hux,” Kylo gasps. His voice sounds close to a sob. “Hux. Stop.”

Hux jerks back as if burned. Below Kylo’s heaving chest, a shape is forming under his trousers.

Hux shoots to his feet. Kylo continues to fill out even as Hux stares, his trousers tenting until they’re nearly bursting at the seams.

Kylo, still in bed and dazed looking, appears as if he is struggling say something. Hux does not wait for him. He turns and stalks out, arranging his mind into a cautious blank.

Kylo does not stop him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for absolutely everything. 
> 
> *Please heed the tags.

Hux blinks at his datapad. The message simple reads:

“I require your assistance. Urgently.”

Like the previous message, no meeting place or time has been specified. Hux licks his dry lips. He turns to the viewport in front of him as if to seek counsel, but he already knows what he has to do. His pale reflection curls its lips, a grimace with a glint of white teeth.

Kylo’s request has arrived conveniently at the beginning of his rest cycle, which Hux sees more as fortuitous coincidence than any active consideration on Kylo’s part. It’s been almost a standard week since he fled from Kylo’s quarters. He can still easily recall the image of Kylo sprawled out on his small bed, hair tousled, his eyes dark and wide. A missed opportunity. But perhaps the added desperation will prove advantageous.

Kylo has remained holed up in his quarters, which he had not moved out of after the Snoke Incident. Hux harbors no delusions as to what actually went down in the throne room—still feels himself bristle at the lie and the brazenness of its delivery. But as he approaches Kylo’s quarters, he tempers his rage into something less fiery, smooths its heat into a deceptive sheet of warmth. He does not doubt Kylo’s ability to put an end to him, should the urge strike. But he also knows that at least for now, Kylo needs him where he is, especially in light of certain recent developments.

Were he a less level-headed man, he would be tempted to dismiss their previous encounter as some sort of stress-induced fever dream. But Hux is not one to question his own memories, nor one to create pointless excuses for the wet blotches on his trousers that smelled faintly of milk. He has always suspected that force users practiced some form of closely-guarded act of depravity, but Kylo’s “affliction” lives outside of what even his robust imagination can concoct. 

All in all, he believes that no hallucination of his can to produce something as original as Kylo Ren begging to be milked.

Hux comes to a measured stop in front of Kylo’s doors. As he searches for an appropriate expression to wear, the doors whoosh open and reveal a panting Kylo Ren. Kylo is shirtless, his wet hair dribbling small beads of water down his skin. 

Without much conscious thought, Hux’s eyes wander to Kylo’s chest. It’s painfully distended, colored by a deep flush creeping up into Kylo’s pale neck. Hux opens his mouth to comment on his appearance, but wavers when he meets Kylo’s bloodshot eyes.

“Supreme Leader,” he only says as he steps in and the doors shut behind him.

Wordlessly, Kylo turns and stalks to the far side of the room, where he lowers himself into his bed with uncharacteristic gingerness. A lone glass pitcher lies near the foot of the bed. Kylo does not meet Hux eyes. His shoulders are hunched, his voice a tremor. “Don’t worry. I won’t—What happened last time won’t happen again.”

Hux looks pointedly in the direction of Kylo’s nether regions. When he fails to garner a reaction, he shrugs off his greatcoat and makes a show of removing each of his gloves. 

“Hurry,” Kylo says with a touch of desperation.

“Patience, Supreme Leader,” Hux says, still folding his gloves. “I shall be right with you.”

Kylo lets out a small noise between a whimper and growl. Hux decides to not provoke him further--Kylo appears even more unhinged than he did last week. He approaches Kylo in cautious steps, eyeing the chair Kylo has already set in place. 

“If I may, Supreme Leader,” Hux says.

Kylo looks up at him with wet eyes. “Hurry,” he says again.

“Why haven’t you summoned me sooner? Was your—condition not as dire as I had previously assumed?”

Kylo looks away, clenching and unclenching his great fists. “Just. Just do what you’re here to do. Hurry!”

Without further comment, Hux rolls up his sleeves and steels himself--then begins to straddle Kylo’s thighs. Kylo leans back in alarm, yelping at the sudden movement.

“What is this?” Kylo asks, voice strained.

“I thought it would make things easier. Gives me more leverage,” Hux answers earnestly, still hovering over Kylo. “This is quite hard on my arms, you know.”

Kylo gives Hux an incredulous look, his adam’s apple bobbing rapidly. Kylo smells of soap--he must have just stepped out of the shower. A drop of water falls from the tip of Kylo’s curls and glides down his reddened chest.

“Well? Do you want me to leave instead?” Hux asks, eyes tracing the droplet.

“No!” Kylo says, then swallows. “Do it. I don’t care how. Just get on with it.”

“As you command, Supreme Leader” Hux says, smiling. It’s not a reassuring smile, Hux knows, but Kylo's glare only makes him bare more teeth. Hux relaxes his full weight into Kylo’s lap and places his hands on Kylo’s chest.

Kylo sucks in a sharp breath. When he finally exhales again, his warm gasp brushes Hux’s face, its heat almost hotter than the skin under his palms.

Hux rubs his fingers on Kylo’s chest and studies Kylo’s face. Kylo has squeezed his eyes shut. The fight seems leave him completely the moment Hux touches him. Hux cups as much of Kylo as he can and presses in slightly.

“Look at you,” Hux says into Kylo’s ear, his voice just above a whisper. “You should have asked for me sooner, Supreme Leader.”

Kylo’s eyes snap open. Before he could form a retort, Hux digs his fingers into Kylo’s chest. Kylo’s head falls back, a small wail rising from his lips.

“You’re too full. Beyond your limit, “ Hux continues. He strokes Kylo’s pecs, testing their weight. “What would happen if you waited any longer? Would you simply continue to fill up? Eventually burst from the pressure?”

He tightens his hands and squeezes firmly. Kylo lets out a keening sound, his whole body taut and shaking. Hux kneads Kylo, hands slow and unyielding, and watches moisture gather at the tips of his nipples until small beads of white join the rivulets of water Kylo hasn’t bothered to dry. Wasteful, Hux thinks. He leans his weight into his hands and begins a punishing massage. Kylo is openly moaning and grasping at his sheets now, his face a blotch of scarlet.

“Leaking again, I see,” Hux says with a widening grin. He knows he ought to contain his delight, but he doubts Kylo can even see him. Kylo’s eyes are unfocused, his pupils blown wide. Hux has not misjudged him--the brat is clearly helplessly aroused by whatever he’s doing.

What exactly is he doing? Hux refuses to think too hard about it. He places a finger over the wet tip of Kylo’s nipple and presses down, hard. Kylo gives a sharp cry. 

“I can’t—you need to—”

“What do I need to do?” Hux asks coolly.

Kylo’s eyes find Hux’s face, no longer as dazed-looking as Hux would have liked. “You need to. You need to do it now!”

Hux decides to let it slide. “What if you’re not ready?” Hux says as he resumes kneading Kylo, pleased to hear moans immediately spill through Kylo’s clenched teeth. “What if because of your stubbornness, you have become too full to be milked safely? To be milked ever again?”

Kylo must have retained some measure of clarity even now, because he manages to throw Hux a dangerous look: “That’s not how it works!”

“Perhaps not,” Hux concedes. “But you seem to be enjoying what we are doing now—” Hux gives a sharp twist of his hand and Kylo trashes in pain “—a little too much.”

“I told you,” Kylo pants once he recovers. “I have taken—precautions.To not. Do that again.”

“Have you now. And what are these precautions?” Hux says and pinches a nipple. Kylo hisses and arches his back, but does not answer. 

Hux frowns. Without warning, he pulls his arm back and gives Kylo’s swollen chest a powerful slap. 

Kylo cries out like a wounded animal. When his cry subsides to a sob, Hux strikes him again on the same side, and has to hold on to Kylo when he writhes. The movement seems to put Kylo in even greater distress, his distended chest trembling and rolling under Hux’s hand. When Hux lands his third slap, his own hand aflame from the impact, Kylo begins to sob in earnest. Fat tears roll down dark lashes and pale skin.

Hux can hear his heart beat violently within his rib cage. As he watches a sweat-drenched Kylo choke out huffs of uneven breaths, he feels his own sweat soak through the back of his collar. This could have been where Kylo shoved him off, choked him, threw him into a wall. He could have killed Hux with a thought. But Kylo has done none of these things. He has remained on his back, on his too-small bed, and endured everything Hux has given him, pliant and vulnerable. 

“Answer my question,” Hux asks again once Kylo catches his breath.

Kylo squeezes his eyes shut, color rising on his cheeks. His lips tremble for a moment before he finally relents: “I have...bound myself. With restraints.”

Hux arches an eyebrow, but Kylo offers nothing else. Then something dawns on Hux and he shudders with vicious glee. Balancing his weight on Kylo’s chest, he ignores Kylo’s whines and climbs atop him until his knee rests between Kylo’s legs.

Instead of the softness of flesh or a straining erection, he feels something smooth and firm. He presses his knee down and hears a telling gasp. 

“Filthy boy,” Hux whispers into Kylo’s ear. “Is this the only way you can control yourself? To contain that unruly cock of yours?”

Kylo whimpers. Hux grinds his knee into Kylo and sneaks a hand down Kylo’s waistband. Kylo does not resist.

Hux’s fingers find leather. Smiling, Hux begins to tug Kylo’s trousers down. Kylo allows this too—even lifts his hips helpfully.

A crudely assembled leather contraption binds Kylo’s genitals, with large straps that wrap firmly around his waist. A makeshift chastity belt. The leather is dark, completely encasing the front of Kylo’s crotch to ensure that he cannot become erect. Hux does not know whether to praise Kylo’s dedication or scold him for his degeneracy. Kylo has turned his head to the side, trying to bury his face in his sheets. Despite his proficiency at reading people, Hux cannot tell if Kylo has really devised such an item for Hux’s benefit, or if he has merely inflicted this upon himself for his own perverse pleasure. 

“What have we here?” Hux says, cupping the leather device and squeezing it. It has a little give, and Kylo hisses at the pressure. “Did you make this yourself? Have you always had it?”

Kylo does not answer him, and Hux resumes stroking his chest at a torturous speed. 

“Is this why you hate being milked so much?” Hux continues in hushed whispers, lowering his face to Kylo’s. “Because you enjoy it? Because you are afraid you might lose yourself to it, while others watch?”

“No!”

“No? Then what is this?” Hux tightens his hand around Kylo’s crotch and digs his other hand into Kylo’s chest, now really kneading it, pressing his fingers deep into the inflamed flesh and pulling and twisting in a circular motion. 

Kylo howls and goes rigid, but even through the thick leather, Hux can feel his encaged cock throb. Hux lessens the pressure for a moment, then repeats the motion, again, and again, building up a merciless rhythm. Kylo’s face contorts in some unfamiliar expression of agony or ecstasy. Hux watches it, entranced, and feels his own cock grow full.

“You enjoy pain,” Hux whispers, almost to himself. “You crave debasement.”

Kylo cannot hear him—he’s too loud, preoccupied with moaning and gasping into Hux’s every touch. His damp hair is dark against his face, strands of ink on flushed skin. Hux does not know how much longer he can do this. He is approaching the edge of something perilous himself. 

Kylo breaks first. “I can’t—” he gasps between cries of pain, or perhaps it is pleasure, “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Hux asks without slowing.

“I need—” a whine, “I need release.”

“Release?” Hux presses him. 

“I need—need to be milked.” Kylo finally says, his last syllable turning into a shout as Hux gathers his swollen flesh in his fist.

“You are already leaking all over yourself,” Hux says, watching milky liquid spill from his nipple. He takes a thumb and rubs its tip, then presses his fingernail into it. 

Kylo arches his back, his lips pulled apart in a silent scream. Hux squeezes Kylo’s chest in his fist and tugs his nipple cruelly, not giving Kylo a moment to recover. This is a painful and inefficient way to milk anything, Hux knows, but Kylo does not seem to care. He is somewhere else altogether, his eyes open but not really seeing.

“Please,” Kylo cries when Hux stops, “Please!”

“Filthy boy,” Hux says, watching Kylo leak from his chest and wet the sheets. “Vile boy,” he resumes giving Kylo brutal tugs as he grinds his knee into Kylo’s crotch. “You don’t deserve release. You should be made to fill up to the bursting point, made to go out like this and have the world see what you are. You should be on your knees, naked and on display, swaying and leaking as you crawl.”

Kylo screams something incomprehensible, and Hux speeds up despite the ache building in his arms. “You cannot get enough of this, can you. If not for your cage, you’d have soiled your sheets.” Hux shifts his weight until almost all of it rests on his knee, and Kylo, for the first time since they started, grabs Hux with his hands.

“Take it off,” Kylo says, trembling and frantic. “Take it off.”

Hux pulls Kylo’s nipple and twists it, and when Kylo doesn’t immediately release him, he flattens the swollen nub between his fingers

Kylo falls back into bed, broken sobs coming out in spurts.

“I will decide when, and if it comes off,” Hux says, rolling the nipple between his fingers. “Is that understood?”

Kylo doesn't give him a response, and Hux clamps down again, his hand an unrelenting vice. 

“Is that understood?” Hux says. He does not let go until the other man’s tear-filled eyes turn to him. Hux wonders, suddenly, if he has pushed Kylo too far, if this will be the moment Kylo throws him off and put an end to their little game. Kylo can remove the ridiculous thing with his mind, and Hux will have no choice but to continue.

But Kylo merely nods, and this helpless little gesture sends a wave of euphoria sweeping through Hux. He feels lightheaded, full of something he can’t quite name.

“Good,” Hux says. “Now be a good boy and spread your legs.”

Kylo obeys, his chest rising and falling. Hux takes a moment to admire Kylo’s heavy thighs before forcing a finger through the edge of his leather cage. It’s a tight fit; Kylo shudders at the contact and closes his eyes. His cock is searing hot against Hux’s finger, already half hard but denied room to fully thicken. Hux drags his finger along the pulsing length and digs a knuckle in, studying Kylo with feigned disinterest.

“Everything seems to be in order,” Hux says over Kylo’s whimpers, “the cage stays on.”

Kylo swallows thickly. Hux’s finger finds the sensitive tip and strokes it, then withdraws his hand altogether.

“Now, where were we,” Hux says, tracing the wetness on Kylo’s chest. He grasps Kylo with both hands and climbs atop him—Hux is still fully clothed, and beneath him Kylo is slippery and bare.

“We are not making much progress,” Hux tut-tuts. “It seems that your body refuses to let go. Perhaps it wishes to stay full, to prolong this perverse indulgence.”

Kylo’s thighs twitch and tremble, but since Hux has not instructed him to do so, he does not close them. Hux smiles. He crushes the swollen flesh in his hands until his knuckles turn white, watching Kylo throw his head back and expose his pale throat. Milky liquid spill from Kylo’s chest—his nipples are a livid red, engorged and shiny.

“It’s exhausting. I cannot keep up with your body’s shameless demands,” Hux muses as he pulls on those nipples, wringing them at a punishing rhythm. “Perhaps it’s time to consider another approach.”

Kylo’s misty eyes turn back to Hux, his face now wearing a slightly confused expression. Hux looks at him coolly, even as his racing heart threatens to deafen him. He should not hesitate, cannot afford to hesitate—but something in him is on high alarm, threatened by how fragile his veneer of control has become.

Hux cannot back down now. Staring into Kylo’s eyes, he lowers his face until it almost rests on Kylo’s chest, and presses his lips softly onto Kylo’s burning bosom. 

Kylo’s eyes widen, his breaths coming out in rapid huffs. With agonizing slowness, Hux wraps his lips around one of Kylo’s nipples. He ghosts his tongue over the hot skin, making Kylo shiver and go taut. Without breaking his gaze, Hux takes more of Kylo into his mouth, sucking in the supple flesh until the sweet taste of milk fills his mouth. Kylo does not look away this time; his ruby lips are slack and slightly trembling, his eyes dark.

Nothing has prepared Hux for the sugary scent that fills his nose, nor the overwhelming warmth that spills down his throat. He closes his eyes, suckling and inhaling, trying to get a hold of his composure. Despite having just straddled a nearly naked Kylo as he stroked his cock, this feels too impossibly close, too intimate. His tongue can feel the texture of Kylo’s skin, his jaws the quake of his breaths. Kylo’s immense quivering heat scorches him through the thin fabric of his shirt, his warmth now a part of him, throbbing down his throat, dissolving into his blood. 

Hux caresses Kylo’s neglected chest and bites into him. More warmth fills his mouth, dribbles down his chin. His hands finds a terrible yet exquisite rhythm, using Kylo’s groans and sobs as his instruments of pleasure.

Kylo’s great frame shakes with something not quite contained. Slurred words spill from his lips, rising and falling until it reaches a frenzied peak--then there is only a litany of “please, please, please”, fevered and desperate, pleading for something Kylo seems no longer able to articulate.

Hux cannot speak--his mouth is full of Kylo, cheeks hollowed and pink. He rubs his thumb over the unused nipple and grinds it flat, sucking hard as he grabs and twists it. Kylo’s urgent cries rise to another frantic pitch.

‘Please,” Kylo says. His eyes are soft and beseeching; desperate tears stream down his face. “Please.”

Without taking his mouth off Kylo, Hux traces a hand down to the leather straps around Kylo’s waist. There's a metal clasp in the back, both cold and warmed by Kylo’s body heat.

Carefully, Hux releases it. Kylo’s heavy cock springs to life, sprawls on Kylo’s stomach until it’s almost thicker than Hux’s wrist. Hux does not stroke it--merely places it in a firm grip as he sucks vigorously and kneads Kylo’s still-full chest with his other hand. Kylo tenses, his words turning into animal cries, then he is climaxing, erupting in powerful spurts, his cock pulsing in Hux’s hand until Hux too goes rigid, a white hot surge seizing his mind.

When Hux returns to his body, the room is quiet but for the sound of ragged breaths. He detaches his mouth from Kylo with a wet plop. As the fog of arousal dissolves into cold lucidity, a feeling of unease begins to settle in. Kylo is still on his back, his face cast in shadows.

Mortification strikes Hux like a blow when he feels the wetness in his trousers--he’s come in his pants like some callow schoolboy. He moves to get up, but finds his wrist wrapped in Kylo’s broad hand.

“Don’t go yet,” Kylo says. His voice, though raw, has lost it’s meekness. Whatever terrible game they played has now concluded, and Kylo’s gaze is sharp, calculating.

“I’m getting rather full,” Hux says with false nonchalance. “Perhaps we should try the pitcher.”

Kylo’s eyes slide to the unused glass pitcher by his bed, a bit of color returning to his cheeks. “No.”

His tone allows no argument. Hux sighs and settles down again, careful to keep his hands to himself this time. With some wariness he puts his mouth on the nipple he has so far neglected, and other than a sharp intake of breath, Kylo remains still and silent. 

Hux nearly jumps out of his skin when Kylo places a heavy arm around his back. Kylo is studying him, his eyes obscured by shadows. He bottom lip is flattened between his teeth, and Hux has to resist the urge to tell him to stop.

The sweet taste of milk calms him somewhat. The room feels too small, too warm, like the innards of some metal beast. Kylo is too large, too overwhelming. Hux wonders if perhaps by consuming some part of Kylo he might become a part of Kylo, too. If Kylo is altering him irrevocably from the inside out.

It wasn’t long until Hux begins to feel full in earnest. His stomach is now stretched firm with warm milk, and drowsiness pulls at his mind. He unlatches from Kylo and sits up, and Kylo lets him, dark eyes following Hux’s every movement.

Kylo’s chest no longer looks engorged. It’s firm and trim, pale except for the patch of redness where Hux had slapped him.

Face burning, Hux scrambles to his feet. When he looks down he cringes at the state of his uniform. His shirt is beyond salvaging--its sleeves are wet, and its rumpled front is splattered with a mixture of milk and ejaculate. His trousers, thankfully, has not been soaked through. 

“You may use my shower, if you wish,” Kylo suggests, sitting up as well.

“That’s not necessary,” Hux says as he reaches for his coat. He pulls his gloves out of his coat pockets, thinks better of it, and shoves them back in again. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair and turns back to Kylo.

They regard each other for a long moment, neither of them saying anything. Kylo wears a unreadable expression on his face, and Hux is suddenly terrified that he might demand something more from him.

But Kylo does not. Exhaling, Hux gives him a small nod. “You know what to do if you need me again.”

“Of course.”

“Well. Goodnight.”

Hux departs from Kylo’s quarters with his coat wrapped around him and races through the halls, perhaps looking like a madman. When he finally returns to the safety of his own rooms, he strips himself bare and collapses on his bed. He can't be bothered to shower or even wipe himself. He is so full, full of warmth, full of endless heat that fills his core and stretches out into his limbs, into his toes, into his every fingertip. Drowsiness clouds his mind, engulfs it, and before long he succumbs to a dreamless sleep.

* ~ * ~*

Hux does not know if he has ever suckled at his mother’s breast. He has almost no memory of early childhood, just glimpses of whirring droids and gentle hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to come scream at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/plasticpill).


	3. Chapter 3

Kylo stands panting and red-faced as he watches the darkening holoprojector with disbelief. The entire bridge crew flinches when he turns abruptly and exits. Hux, the sadistic bastard, is really going to leave him here to rot on his own.

It bears no purpose to ruminate on the fact that it was Kylo who sent Hux to personally oversee the trivial extraction operation planetside. Kylo stalks into his quarters, plunks down into a chair and regrets it immediately when the motion jolts his overfull chest. Blast it all to Alderaan. He only wanted to remind Hux who was actually in charge, as the little bastard has grown increasingly insolent the more time they spent together. That aside, he thought Hux’s absence might give him some time to re-evaluate the nature of their entanglement.

He has managed to do no such re-evaluation. When the two-day operation he ordered mysteriously turned into a weeklong one, all Kylo could do was simmer in rage. Hux’s official excuses all appeared legitimate—short of jumping into a shuttle and dragging him back by force, there was nothing Kylo could do without further compromising his esteem among his men, if he still had any at this point.

Kylo has half a mind to orchestrate a purge of some kind. He’s sure now that most of his so-called loyal subordinates are plotting to supplant him, perhaps with Hux’s endorsement. But what is he to do? Slaughter half of high command and hope he can make loyalists out of their replacements? Install puppets in power, hoping their subordinates simply fall in line?

Despite being the son of a senator-turned-general, Kylo hasn’t the faintest idea. He’d thought political intrigue beneath him. Thought Hux beneath him. And now here he is, dependent on Hux in ways he’d rather not examine too closely. Whatever he has going with Hux has gone on for too long and with too little restraint. Another grave miscalculation.

To make matters worse, the demands of his affliction have only gotten more urgent since Hux’s involvement. Something seems to have broken loose. He’s producing too quickly, too much, his chest filling up only hours after Hux leaves him, running on an unfaltering schedule like some kriffing meal service. Perhaps more horrifying is the fact that he no longer minds the act, not truly. The dreaded milking sessions have turned into keenly-anticipated occasions of ecstasy. Even the thought the having those cold hands on his chest sends his pulse quickening, makes some secret part of him rouse at the promise of cruelty and pain.

Cursing, Kylo reaches out with the Force and helps himself out of his tunic. The front of the highly absorbent fabric he’s wrapped around his chest is soaked through. He places a hesitant hand on his chest, gasping at its fullness. Even this feather-soft touch sends a shock of pain through his body, an unbearable feeling of desperation. What would Hux do, had he found Kylo in this state? Kylo groans at the thought. It’s pointless to expect Hux to show mercy. He’d simply dig his fingers in without warning, propelling Kylo straight past his breaking point and into a place where pride and shame no longer had meaning, where he’d howl and sob as he begs him to stop, begs him for more.

Shivering, Kylo looks down at himself. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen his chest this swollen. He nudges it with a finger, but even that is too much. As ruthless as Kylo is, he finds it difficult to inflict pain on himself. And what purpose would it even serve? No sweet release awaits him on the other side. All he’ll manage to do is rile himself up even more, while Hux sits cackling half a light year away, no doubt taking pleasure in Kylo’s misery.

But oh, it’s unbearable, the fullness, the intense pressure. Kylo leans forward in his chair slightly, feels his heavy chest shift with gravity, an ache dull yet cutting deep into his core. With a low moan he leans back again, gives himself a second to breathe, then begins to rock back and forth, slowly, gently. The ache builds up into a sweltering sort of heat, singeing every inch of his body, constant, unrelenting.

His cock is throbbing against his pants. He speeds up his pace, moaning and shaking with each sway of his chest. With the Force he unzips his trousers and frees himself, his hands still holding on to the edges of his seat. He begins to lose track of time, the entire world reduced to that torturous back and forth, back and forth, until he feels himself tense, his body rushing up towards the ledge, the blissful fall just a sway away—

Kylo clamps a hand around his cock with a cry, squeezing hard enough to halt his impending orgasm. He’s learned the hard way that he can’t let himself come. Without the haze of arousal, he’d just be left with a flat, maddening pain, a even more miserable ordeal than being constantly on edge. He shuts his eyes and and curses the sorry state of his life one more time.

He comms Hux through his private channel. Hux picks up after nineteen excruciating seconds, offering only a crisp “Yes?”

“Come back,” Kylo says, surprised by hoarseness of his own voice, “please.”

There's a momentary pause, then Hux sighs, as if listening to Kylo beg is a great hardship. “I thought I’ve already explained. I’m occupied planetside. I won’t be back for at least three more cycles.”

“Hux, I won’t last that long. I—I need you, now.”

“Do you?” Hux says. “I’d have thought otherwise, since you were so eager to send me away.”

“Please. I’m just—I’m sorry, okay? I’m at my limit. If you don’t come back now I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“At your limit?” Hux echos, then hums thoughtfully.

“I’m serious, Hux. I’m begging you here. Just come back and I’ll let you do whatever you want with me— ”

“Turn on your holoprojector,” Hux says suddenly, “and disrobe.”

Kylo opens his mouth, flushing with mortification, but—perhaps the sight of him so desperate might motivate Hux to make a swift return.

“I’m already shirtless,” Kylo pants, struggling to take off his trousers. He turns on his holoprojector and presents himself fully in its view, his swollen chest and erect cock on display.

Hux sends no visuals with his transmission. He tsks at Kylo, voice taking on that gleeful quality that’d send Kylo into a rage under normal circumstances, but now only stokes the heat low in his belly.

“My, aren’t you eager,” Hux croons over Kylo’s whimpers. “Have you been playing with yourself, just now? Grabbing those full tits, giving them a good hard yank?”

Kylo shuts his eyes, feels his cock pulse. “No,” Kylo gasps. “I’m too full. Can’t stand to touch them.”

“Nonsense. You look perfectly fine to me.”

“I’m not,” Kylo says miserably.

“Get rid of that horrid thing on your chest, will you?”

“But the leaking—”

“Take it off,” Hux says, voice hard.

With trembling hands Kylo unwraps the fabric around his chest. His nipples are a livid red, engorged and glistening with moisture. A bead of white rolls down his front and disappears into the crease of his thigh, and Kylo feels his whole body flush with humiliation.

“Nasty boy,” Hux breathes. “Leaking all over yourself, because you just can’t get enough of it, can you? You can’t wait to have my hands on you, wring you until you’re sopping wet.”

“Yes,” Kylo gasps, “please come back and discipline me, I’ll—”

“Show me,” Hux interrupts. “Show me how full you are.”

Tentatively, Kylo squares his shoulders, pushes his chest out into the cool air. His skin feels too tight. The pressure in his chest is heightened in this position, and he groans a little, desperation mounting.

“Hold them in your hands. Lift them, show me how much you have produced over the past week.”

Kylo places his palms on his burning skin. Then sucking in an unsteady breath, he begins to push gently up, gathering the weight of his chest in his hands.

“Impressive,” Hux says, “but I need a better demonstration. Give them a squeeze. Let me see how firm they are.”

Kylo obeys, a cry tearing from his throat. A wave of pain sears his mind, and moisture wets his fingers. When he returns to himself he hears Hux chuckle, the sound both distant and impossibly close.

“Looks like your tits aren’t the only things leaking,” Hux says. Kylo looks down and stifles a moan—his cock is twitching a little, a string of precome dribbling from its slit.

“Come on now, don’t play coy with me,” continues Hux. “Squeeze those tits like you mean it, and don’t let go. I want to see them strain against your fingers.”

“Please, no more,” Kylo gasps, but even as he speaks he starts to tighten his hands, letting that excruciating ache engulf him. Sweat trickles down his temples, and he hears himself whine like a wounded beast.

“Roll your hands a little. That’s it. Now knead, show me how much pressure they can withstand.”

Kylo’s eyes are squeezed shut. With Hux whispering into his ear, he can almost imagine it’s Hux’s hands granting him this unyielding torture. The pressure is too much. Kylo chokes out a sob, begs for mercy.

“Harder,” Hux only says.

Kylo clamps down, his hands almost moving without his acknowledgement. He’s weeping now, every press and pull an onslaught of agony. He kneads himself in a circular motion, like how Hux usually does it, and Hux encourages him, telling him when to slow, when to twist and tug, when to crush himself between his fingers, unbearably tight, pulling desperate wails out of his throat.

“I can’t take any more—” Kylo gasps between wails. “Please—I—I can’t—” But Hux doesn’t relent. In a placid voice he urges Kylo on, and it never occurs to Kylo to disobey him.

Then the blazing fire in his belly surges, spreads, and begins to swallow him whole.

“Don’t come,” Hux warns, and with a strangled scream Kylo grips his cock, pulls his balls away from his body. It’s almost too late. The first contraction is already on the verge of starting, and Kylo squeezes as hard as he can, holding on for dear life as that powerful surge of pleasure is forced back.

Kylo pants in the aftershock, doubled over and drenched in sweat. He knows there’s nothing Hux can do if he simply ignores him and comes, and yet Kylo doesn’t want to, doesn’t even want to entertain the idea.

“Good boy,” Hux says once Kylo straightens, disaster averted. “Now get on your knees.”

Kylo stumbles a bit, feeling lightheaded, but he follows Hux’s command. He kneels on his bed, his chest still throbbing with pain, and waits for the next instruction.

“Spread your knees apart. Sit on your heels and lean back, and rest your weight on your hands.”

Kylo struggles to obey. It’s not a comfortable position, the angle highlighting the heaviness in his chest.

“Good. Remember this position well. When I return in two days, you will greet me exactly like so, exposed and on your knees.”

Kylo sits upright, dismayed. “ _Two days_?” he sputters. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Like I said, I have matters to attend to. I’ve already shortened my stay by a day, out of sympathy for your plight.”

“But—”

“I’ll see you in two days,” Hux cuts him off, and Kylo thinks he hears a grin in his words. “Good night, Supreme Leader.”

The transmission cuts off. Kylo hurls a pillow into the wall with an angry howl, then howls again when the movement jostles his chest.

*

The days crawl by at the pace of a Corellian slug. Kylo feigns sickness, shutting himself in his quarters and counting the seconds. He doesn’t fully trust Hux to not invent some cause for further delay, just to mess with him. If it really comes to that, Kylo’s not above flying a TIE straight to his camp and forcing his cooperation, his own reputation be damned.

One the second day, a droid arrives at his quarters with a small package. A gift from General Hux, the label says. Kylo considers tossing it into an incinerator, but in the end curiosity got the better of him, and he tears it open glumly.

Kylo nearly drops its content. It’s a steel cock cage, its gleaming bars cold against Kylo’s palm. Swallowing, he turns it in his hands, noting with a twinge of disappointment that it doesn’t come with a locking mechanism or any keys. A small note is attached to it: _something to help you pass the time_.

It’s a trial to get it on—despite the accurate sizing, it’s damn near impossible to get himself soft enough to slide it onto his cock. Hurting himself doesn’t work, as it only makes him harder. He ends up covering his nether regions with a bucket of ice, then lubing himself up to his balls. It’s a tight fit. The moment the cage clicks shut, his cock begins to fill it to the brim, the thought of Hux examining it with a gloved hand momentarily allaying his anger.

When the report of Hux’s return finally arrives, Kylo thinks he’s on the cusp of losing his mind for good. He’s so painfully full, bursting at the seams. Even the act of lying in bed has become a kind of mild but sustained torture. He limps to the shower, every step a jolt of agony, and he has to hold back tears as jets of water splash onto his skin, his caged cock straining against its prison.

He avoids the bed and gets into position on the floor, hoping the display of absolute submission might inspire Hux to speed the proceedings along. He tries his best to hold still—he’s directly facing the door, his caged cock fully exposed, his distended chest pushed out. And by the gods, his chest is distended. It sits heavy against his ribcage, having taken on an almost feminine appearance.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kylo prays that this is not a part of some ploy, that Hux won’t arrive with an entourage of officers, all shocked into silence by the sight of their Supreme Leader so degraded, then laughing and pointing while he scrambles to pick himself off the floor. But even then, Kylo isn’t sure he’d mind. In his half aroused, half anguished fever, he’d happily let anything happen to him if it means getting a taste of release at the end. Perhaps he’d even crawl to them, cock leaking and chest presented, hoping that someone might be intrigued enough to cup him in their hands, tug him just so, just so—

Hux arrives alone. Kylo sucks in a deep breath, suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that Hux is here, Hux is actually here. Hux’s hair is tidy, his expression sure. He walks up to Kylo in deliberate steps, his eyes sweeping across Kylo’s kneeling form.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long, Supreme Leader,” Hux says, the hint of a smile playing around his lips. His uniform looks freshly pressed, bearing no sign of haste or negligence.

Kylo lets out a garbled sound, driven beyond words by both outrage and anticipation.

“I see that you’ve been enjoying my gift,” Hux continues, stepping in closer. Kylo looks down at himself. His cock is pressed up against the steel bars, struggling uselessly to become erect, and already showing the first hints of purple. Hux studies him for a moment, then lifts his leg and gives the cage a little nudge with his boot.

“Nhhggh.” Kylo says. He has, on occasion, fantasized about Hux putting him in a gag. But now he wonders if it’s even necessary: he’s already been reduced to whines and grunts by a light prod, and his cock now expands even further, its skin bulging out between the unyielding steel.

Hux tsks, though his face belies satisfaction. His gaze drifts to Kylo’s tremoring chest, and he says, his voice amiable: “I suppose you’ll be pleased to learn that I have brought you another gift.”

Kylo looks up at him, disoriented, and sees Hux withdraw the hand he’s kept clasped behind his back. His gloved fingers are wrapped around something long and thin, a black rod that has a wide, flattened end. A riding crop, Kylo realizes with dawning delight and horror. Hux examines it, gives it a experimental swing, and Kylo gulps, his lips parting in a soundless moan.

Hux extends the riding crop towards Kylo, lets it hovers a mere inch above his chest. Kylo closes his eyes, shivering from head to toe. Something firm brushes against his skin, almost like a caress, and he hears Hux’s voice ring out above him.

“It’s very rude stunt you pulled on me, Kylo. The entire high command watched me dismissed from my own ship, chasing after some menial assignment unbefitting my station. An admiral even sent me a note wishing me success on my mission. Do you understand the gravity of your mistake, Kylo?”

Kylo nods hurriedly, feeling the riding crop trace a gentle curve across his chest, its touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“I think not,” Hux says after a moment of silence, and that’s all the warning Kylo gets. He hears the sounds first—a hiss of air, a meaty slap. Then the pain, oh the pain. It’s a white hot flash, flaring in the very heart of his being, drowning out all thoughts, all sensations, all perception.

When he comes to he hears the tail of a scream, noting dimly that it comes from himself. Then the pain recedes to cascading waves, throbbing fiercely on the left side of his chest.

Hux drags the crop lightly across Kylo’s chest, eliciting a small cry when it scrapes across a swollen nipple.

“Maintain your position,” Hux says, “and thank me.”

Kylo opens his mouth, tries to form words around his trembling. “Th-thank you,” he croaks.

Hux swings again. This time Kylo is prepared, but it only seems to magnify the force of the blow. His body is taut, waiting for the strike to land, and when it does it tears through him, that blinding flash once again overtaking his mind.

“Thank you,” Kylo whispers when the throbbing calms to an almost bearable level, his voice hoarse from screaming.

Hux smiles, victorious. He bends down and runs a glove finger down Kylo’s chest. He pauses at where he has struck Kylo, the skin blooming red, and pushes in slightly.

Kylo sobs, far beyond shame. “Please,” he whispers, “please.”

“You really are full,” Hux says, sounding almost awed. He pushes a little harder, the light touch producing a new wave of desperation so intense, so unbearable that it nearly sends Kylo toppling to the ground, when not even the pain of impact has bested his control.

Kylo moans, begging Hux with his eyes, but Hux only straightens, regarding Kylo with a sneer.

“Oh, we’re far from done,” he says. He pulls back his arm and strikes Kylo again.

They fall into a steady rhythm. Hux would swing the riding crop, give Kylo a moment to breathe and thank him, then swing again. Kylo loses count of the number of strikes. After an unfathomable length of time, Hux leans down again, his gloved palms cool against Kylo’s skin.

Kylo’s face is wet with tears. He looks up at Hux beseechingly, sobs when those cool hands give him a light caress. Firm thumbs stroke his nipples, and Kylo gasps out a moan, dares to hope, but the punishment is not over. Hux stands back up and lifts the riding crop again.

Kylo squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the now-familiar impact. When it’s time for him to thank Hux, only desperate whines escape his lips.

Hux waits for him, impatience and disapproval written on his face. When Kylo still doesn’t produce the right words, he simply steps forward, brings down the riding crop with a swish. He allows Kylo no time to recover this time, landing each strike one after another, hitting everywhere—the side of Kylo’s chest, the full, trembling front, and once, with a sharp shriek from Kylo, right on top of a hypersensitive nipple.

The strikes begin to collapse into a singular, endless sea of agony. Kylo’s submerged in it, helpless, drowning. The pain seems no longer just pain, but explosions of brightness, their waves surging higher and higher, launching Kylo into the floating vertex.

The blows stop before Kylo reaches it. Kylo falls, his body crumpling to the ground. Distantly, he hears himself sucking in great gulps of air, sees Hux looking down at him, pushing back his hair with a thoughtful expression. He was so close, so close. Why did Hux stop? Has he failed to please him?

Kylo’s on his back, legs still spread wide apart, his cock feeling like it can bend steel with the force of its denied erection. His chest is wet, covered in glistening streaks.

Hux nudges the side of Kylo’s chest with the tip of his boot, as if testing its fullness. “I have not expected you to leak this much. Truth be told, I’ll be happy to let you fill up for a few more days, perhaps even another week. I’ll measure you every day, see how much bigger you’ll get, test just much you’ll spill, all over yourself like an animal.”

“Please,” Kylo sobs, “I can’t—I can’t—“

“Oh, but you can, and you will.”

Hux places his foot on Kylo’s chest and lets it weight drop.

“See, you’re taking it very well,” hux says.

Kylo groans, feels more wetness run down his torso. Hux shifts his weight a little, putting more pressure on Kylo, and begins to grinding the heel of his boot against Kylo’s raw skin.

“Perhaps I’ll let you enjoy a little massage everyday,” Hux continues, ignoring Kylo’s pitiful pleas. “Knead them a little, yank and squeeze a little, step on them, grind them flat, just to help with your production. But then I’ll leave you full, without any relief, have you lie on your front, perhaps with your arms tied behind your back, your full weight resting on your chest. And I’ll come back the next day, just to repeat the process. I might even give you something else to help you along.”

Hux takes his foot off Kylo and bends down. Kylo’s front is damp, the smell of milk hanging in the air. Hux runs a gloved finger across the wetness.

“What a bad boy, a wasteful boy,” Hux says, something strange burning behind his eyes. He removes his gloves with practiced tugs, then lays his palms flat on Kylo’s raw skin. Kylo waits for him to suddenly push in, to crush Kylo’s helpless flesh in his hands, but Hux merely strokes him gently, his movements slickened by the wetness. The faint pressure sends an unspeakable feeling of fullness through Kylo, who whimpers tremorously, fresh tears gathering in his eyes.

Kylo lies there, stiff with fear and anticipation. But the pain never comes. Hux strokes his nipples, rubbing the tender nubs between his fingers. Milk leaks out in a faltering dribble, tiny droplets sliding down his side.

Kylo lets out gasping breaths, lightheaded with want. The meager dribble provides no relief from the pressure in his chest, but after all the denial, the nine days of mind-breaking desperation, even the sight of it makes him want to sob with gratefulness, his respite so close at hand.

But Hux withdraws his hands, and Kylo wails at the loss. Smiling, Hux reaches into his pockets and retrieves a pair of small contraptions held together by a thin metal chain. They’re silver, shiny and looking innocent. Kylo stares at them with confusion, watching Hux untangle the chains with a flick of his hand. It’s only when Hux brings one to his chest that he realizes what they are—his entire body tightens with dread, with twisted excitement.

Kylo whimpers when the first nipple clamp snaps shut around his nipple, the inflamed nub flattened between merciless steel. When he stops shaking, Hux tugs the chain a little, testing its security, and Kylo reflexively lifts his torso off the floor, trying to minimize the strength of the pull.

“This will help with the leakage, don’t you think?” Hux says. He forces Kylo back down with a hand around his throat and pulls the chain taut, giving it little jerks when it remains firmly attached to Kylo.

Kylo sobs, babbling incomprehensible platitudes. Clear liquid dribbles from his cock and wets his thigh.

Hux puts the other clamp on, repeating the process. When he’s satisfied with their fit he lets go of Kylo’s throat and begins to pull the chain, lifting Kylo off the floor like a leash.

“On all fours,” Hux says.

Kylo struggles to obey. His limbs shake with the intensity of the pressure in his chest, which now hangs heavy below him. Hux observes him. Without warning, he grasps a handful of Kylo’s hair and pulls his head back, making the metal chain clatter faintly against the clamps.

“See,” Hux says, “look how happy you are. I know you’ve always wanted to be in this position.” Kylo’s expression is not a happy one—his mouth is open wordlessly, his eyes half-closed, wet with tears—but Hux isn’t wrong. Kylo has fantasized about this for weeks, but he has never told Hux this.

“Hold still. I’ve brought more gifts for you,” Hux says.

Kylo’s eyes snap to him, gaze filled with both curiosity and dread. Hux produces a small silver cylinder, about two inches long. He tests its weight, and steadying Kylo with a hand, attaches it to the ring of the nipple clamp.

“Ready?” Hux asks, but doesn't wait for an answer. He lets go of the weight. It falls and bounces, jerking Kylo’s chest in its trajectory.

Kylo moans, digging his fingers into the ground to resist the urge to reach up and stop its maddening swing. The weight is very small, but to Kylo it feels like a steel brick, his tortured chest set aflame. Worse yet, the swinging does not stop. It continues in its perpetual motion, pulling Kylo back and forth, back and forth, its movements renewed and strengthened by every shudder of Kylo’s frame.

“Please—please—” Kylo gasps when he sees the other weight, his voice barely audible. Hux ignores him and hooks it to its matching clamp. When it falls Kylo feels his cock give a powerful twitch, the sensation so overwhelming that Kylo clenches down wish a cry, his entire body fighting for release.

Hux chuckles, the sound impossibly close. He’s behind Kylo, his shirt brushing against Kylo’s back, and when he speaks his voice is a low and soft, his breath warm against Kylo’s neck.

“You love this, don’t you,” Hux whispers into Kylo’s ear. “Crawling on all fours like an animal, with no control, no hope for mercy, to be used and abused by anyone as they see fit.”

Kylo whines, desperate. Hux runs his fingers through Kylo’s sweat-drenched hair, then tugs on it, using it to guide Kylo into a slow front and back sway. The weights on him swing with his movements, their rhythmic tugs drawing wet, gasping sobs from Kylo.

When Kylo settles into a rhythm, Hux lets go of his hair and wraps a hand around his balls.

“Almost as full as your tits,” Hux whispers, giving it a light squeeze. “Would you look at that. You’ve made a second puddle on the floor.”

Kylo looked down. The floor under his cock was indeed glistening wet, and the shame of this knowledge only elicits a fresh surge of pressure in his cock, a new string of fluid spilling from its tip.

“A filthy, filthy boy. Given the choice, would you rather relieve your bursting tits, or your purpling cock? Consider that once you decide, the choice may be permanent.”

Kylo shakes his head with a groan, both options tantalizing yet impossible.

“Poor thing,” Hux whispers into his ear. “But you don’t get to choose, do you? You’ll find release when and only when I permit it. No matter how full you are, how desperate, I can choose to deny you, for an hour, for a day, for a year, forever.”

Kylo lets his eyes fall close, listening to Hux’s voice and feeling the sway of the weights. Hux wraps his arms around Kylo and cups Kylo’s chest. He weighs them in his hands, lifting gently, then strokes his skin, letting his fingers bump against the clamps.

“Is this too much pressure?” Hux asks, his lips against Kylo’s ear.

“Yes,” Kylo chokes.

“Good,” Hux says, and squeezes.

Kylo’s world dissolves into a single sensation. He thinks he’s pleading, praying, but he’s not sure for what. He wants it to stop; he wants more. The uselessness of his pleas only amplifies the heat in his core. Hux kneads Kylo’s chest, pushing and pinching in slow, sure movements, sending the weights under him into a frantic dance.

Kylo’s knees buckle beneath him and he nearly collapses, but Hux gives his chest a hard slap, twisting it until he begins to get back into position. Kylo chokes out gasping sobs, body trembling

“I wish everyone could see you like this,” Hux whispers, “sobbing on your hands and knees, begging to have your tits tortured. Would you like that as well, hmm?”

Kylo moans, quaking in a particularly hard squeeze.

“Yes, I think you’d like that very much. Look how your cock leaks at the thought. You’d love to have strangers see your swollen tits, perhaps have them come up close to examine how full you are.” Hux digs his fingers in, grasping Kylo in an iron hold. “And my, you are full. Denied release for weeks, almost ready to burst. Look at you crying pathetically. You want so badly to relieve some of that pressure, even the tiniest bit, don’t you?”

Kylo nods, panting urgently.

“But you can’t, can you,” Hux continues to whisper. “You simply have to endure, for however long I may decide. And I’ll continue to deny you, leave you sobbing and trembling, have your desperation on display. I might even allow viewers to inspect you more closely, let them feel for themselves exactly how full you are. Oh, but they can’t even imagine. How tender your flesh is, how sensitive. They’d squeeze—” Hux squeezes firmly, “—too hard, oblivious to the pain you’re in, the torture you’re withstanding. But perhaps they do know, and that’s why they treat you so harshly. And I’ll let them have their way with you. Yanking your tits—” a yank, “twisting them—” a twist, “tugging them—” a string of unrelenting tugs, “and crushing those swollen tits whole in their fists, mercilessly.” Hux’s hands become a crushing vise, again and again.

Kylo throws back his head, his mouth pulled into a soundless O. His hips are moving in a strange, stuttering motion, gyrating against something that isn’t there, searching for release that won’t come.

Even with the clamps still heavy under him, milk begins to seep out and drip onto the floor, covering the swinging weights with their tracks. Hux picks up his pace, builds up a ruthless rhythm. “They’d see that first drop, feel your wetness, and find new, exquisite ways to make you leak. Not even your nipples—engorged, clamped shut, and already in agony—are spared their abuse. You might try to pull away, weep and beg, but in an instant I’ll force you back into position, remind you painfully what you are.”

Something’s pulling on the chain attached to Kylo’s clamps, yanking it brutally, repeatedly. The weights hanging from his chest lurch and twist like they’re being inspected in vicious hands. Hux continues to wring him, drawing more wetness from his chest, but there’s no gushing relief, no escape from the pressure raging inside.

“And throughout it all,” Hux says, panting, “they’d all look at you, at your obscene, heavy chest, at your trembling thighs, and see your shame. You cannot hide it—Your entire body is on display: your tits, your hard cock, your arse, your twitching hole. They’ll know, without question, that you _enjoy_ this treatment.”

Kylo’s body is aflame with something almost foreign. All the pressure and the pain rise to a single, needle-sharp point, and then Hux gives the chain one last tug, so hard the clamps contort his chest and snap free in blinding shocks of pain, and Kylo screams, utterly and irrevocably undone, his entire body convulsing in an impossible climax.

Warmth spills from his still-bound cock, not in ropes of ejaculation, but a pulsing stream. Hux continues to knead him, forcing liquid to gush from his chest, until a nameless string in his mind snaps and he falls flat to the ground, his chest crushed beneath his weight.

Kylo lies there, twitching in the aftershocks. Hux hauls Kylo onto his back, his face flushed and twisted by something wild, and he unzips his trousers, pushes Kylo’s full chest together, and shoves his cock between them, slick and wet and burning, thrusting once, twice, and covers Kylo in hot come.

*

Hux half drags, half hauls Kylo into bed, grunting with exertion. Kylo allows this with a dazed sort of bonelessness. He’s still drunk on Hux’s show of passion, almost elated—before this day, Hux has never bared any part of himself except his hands, and nothing Kylo did could move him.

Hux collapses on top of Kylo in a sweaty heap. Kylo pulls Hux’s face towards his chest, groaning when Hux licks his skin with a hot tongue. Then finally, gloriously, Hux wraps his lips around a nipple and sucks, drawing out a steady stream of milk.

Hux drinks with a raw hunger. Kylo wraps his arms around him, moaning and gasping. Hux strokes Kylo with his hands and squeezes gently, as if to speed up his flow. Kylo’s cock twitches again, but this is a different kind of desire. Kylo feels mellow, calm. The lessening of the pressure in his chest is like a heavy sigh, making his toes curl with pleasure.

Hux moves on to Kylo’s other nipple, and Kylo finds himself running his fingers through Hux’s hair. Hux doesn't pull away. His hair is soft and fine, still damp with sweat. Kylo can feels Hux’s warm breath, his steady heartbeat, and a wave of affection, startling but sure, hits Kylo with no warning.

What is happening to him? Kylo shivers, a bit frightened but far too comfortable to care. The suckling puts him in a strange, floating kind of space, making all his concerns feel distant. It’s just Hux’s lips, the warm, solid weight of him on top of Kylo, more intimate than any lover’s embrace.

When they're done Hux groans and rolls over, rubbing a hand against his full belly. The light in the room has been dimmed, and in the almost-darkness Kylo sees him blink groggily, a yawn making its way out of his mouth.

“This always makes me sleepy,” Hux grumbles. Then his eyes drift shut, and his breaths even.

In sleep, his hard face is slack, his lips slightly parted. Kylo watches him for a moment, then is lost to sleep himself.

*

Kylo wakes up in an extraordinarily good mood. Not even Hux’s anxiety-ridden rant next to him could spoil it, and he stretches his finely aching limbs.

Hux is grumbling something about his schedule, rubbing his arms and pacing around the room with a look torn between frightened and horrified.

“Want a shower?” Kylo asks him, taking pleasure in Hux’s discomfort.

Hux gives him a pained look.

“Go on, it’s just a shower,” Kylo says. “I can have the droids bring some fresh clothes to you. So you can pretend you didn’t fall asleep in my bed and spend half the night slobbering over me.”

Hux looks like he’s grinding his teeth. “Just bring me the clothes. I’ll change and go make myself presentable in my own quarters.”

“Oh. for the love of—” Kylo cuts himself off, sighing. He reaches out with the Force and gives Hux a little nudge in the fresher’s direction.

“Stop that!” Hux says with a dangerous look, stumbling a little.

“Why are you making things so difficult for yourself? Just get in the fresher and I’ll get the droids.” He gives Hux another nudge, harder this time.

“I said stop,” Hux says, and pushes _back_.

Kylo gasps at the shock of it, eyes widening with disbelief.

“What did you just do?” Kylo asks. “How?”

“What?”

Kylo nudges him with the Force again, continues to push and prod, and Hux yelps in outrage, struggling and sputtering.

It’s faint, like a kitten’s smack, but it’s undeniably there, a second, answering push through the Force. Kylo laughs, suddenly delighted. Hux’s connection with the Force is nothing like Kylo’s, deep and limitless. It’s a tiny newborn thing, almost adorable.

“Have you lost your mind?” Hux demands, panting.

“Can you not feel it?” Kylo says with wonder. “You’re wielding the Force, through me. The legends are real.”

Hux freezes, alarm spreading across his features. Still naked, Kylo climbs out of bed and places an empty mug in front of Hux.

“Here. Reach out with your will, try to lift it.”

Hux stares at the mug, looking suddenly wary.

“Come on, try,” Kylo urges.

Hux shuts his eyes briefly, and begins to glare at the mug with a look of concentration. Nothing happens for a moment. Then, almost imperceptibly, the mug rattles a little. Hux’s mouth falls open. With renewed effort Hux stares the mug down, and suddenly it topples over, the clang of its fall making Hux jump.

“What are you playing at?” Hux asks Kylo, backing away from the mug. “This is another idiotic trick of yours, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Kylo says. “That was all you.”

“How is that _possible_?”

“Aren’t you at least a little pleased? Haven’t you always envied my gift? It’s fine, I know you don’t think I deserve it. But now you can get a taste of it too. I’ll show you.”

Hux sits down on the bed, shellshocked.

Kylo grins. He feeling stupidly giddy, an answer to all his fears finally sliding into place. If Hux wants to continue to wield this power, however insignificant it may be to Kylo, he’ll have to bind himself to Kylo fully. Kylo studies him. Hux won’t be able to resist his offer. His greed, his hunger for power, Kylo has felt it, perhaps even admired it. Hux is his.

Kylo steps in closer to Hux and brushes a gentle finger against his the jaw. “Are you going to go take that shower now?”

“Fine,” Hux mutters after a moment. He stands up shakily and heads to the fresher, a dazed look on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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